


Between the Snowflakes Falling

by skysedge



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bath Sex, Hand Jobs, Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Porn with Feelings, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysedge/pseuds/skysedge
Summary: “Don’t you have...things to do?” he asks. “Work, I mean.”Of course. He always does. They both do. There’s no rest for the righteous. Still it seems so far away at this moment, a thousand worlds away from the sight before him. His warrior sinks into the water with a sigh of relief, his eyes falling shut with the pleasure of it, and Haurchefant knows his decision has been made for him. He can’t leave. Not now.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48
Collections: Yes Fest 2020





	Between the Snowflakes Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan/gifts).



> _Here between the snowflakes falling_   
> _I found you_

“I like it here.”

Golden candelabras flickering. Steam on an elegant mirror. Soft white towels stacked neatly on a side-table. It’s a scene as far removed from a battlefield as it’s possible to be. Almost.

“This might sting a little, my dear.”

There’s blood in the washbasin the Warrior of Light is leaning over, his armour heaped by the door and the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol in the air. Haurchefant soaks a cloth in the stringent liquid and presses it tenderly to the ragged tear across his warrior’s shoulder. The unmistakeable messy work of Dravanian claws. What else? Haurchefant has borne the same marks many times himself and so knows how the alcohol will sting. But his warrior doesn’t voice any displeasure, just takes a deep breath and holds it until the wound is clean as though he’s a veteran of the Dragonsong War and not a new arrival to Ishgard. Like everything else he does, it’s awe-inspiring.

When the wound is finally clean, Haurchefant leans in to press a featherlight kiss to his warrior’s uninjured shoulder.

“You’re so brave,” Haurchefant says softly, setting the cloth aside. He’s surprised when he gets a wry laugh in response.

“If I was braver, the bastard wouldn’t have got me from behind.”

Ahh, that’s so like him. Haurchefant straightens up and meets his eyes in the mirror. His expression is stern, frustrated. It worries Haurchefant, the impossibly high standards this exceptional man sets for himself. Words rarely do much to help. His warrior isn’t one for talk anyway. Haurchefant steps closer, carefully presses himself against the warrior’s back and wraps his arms around his stomach.

“Mm,” he hums, “but then it might have got you from the front and that would have been much worse.”

This draws a more sincere laugh from the man’s lips, at least. The sound is soft, drifting into the quiet air of the bathroom like mist. A warm hand raises to rest over Haurchefant’s arm and they stand like this for a dozen beats of his heart before the warrior sighs and closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he admits.

“I know,” Haurchefant says soothingly, reluctantly peeling himself away and reaching for the warrior’s hand. “Time to warm you up, I think. Come on.”

It’s a large bathroom, the finest guest facility in Fortemps Manor, and it takes Haurchefant several steps to reach the cast bronze bathtub. It’s already full, the water that had been scalding now cooled enough to be comfortable. He dips one hand into the water just to check before turning back to his warrior with a smile.

“Please, go ahead.”

The man isn’t shy in removing his clothes. It’s hardly the first time he’s let Haurchefant see him like this. Still it keeps Haurchefant’s interest as keenly as if it was the first time. He’s a sight to behold, a fine example of everything a hero should be. In the warm candlelight his skin glows almost golden, scars highlighted everywhere in rivulets of silver. Haurchefant lets his eyes linger on the muscles of his chest, follows them down to a soft trail of hair leading from his navel. Ahh, but everything about this man is beautiful, more than a statue or painting could ever portray and Haurchefant indulges in staring long enough to see goosebumps rise along strong forearms, soft downy hairs there standing on end with the cold. He drags his eyes back up to the warrior’s face to find himself being watched.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” the warrior says, tone reproachful, a little embarrassed at being the object of such open adoration.

Haurchefant wets his dry lips with his tongue and smiles.

“I want to,” he says firmly. “If you’ll allow it.”

“Of course but...”

The warrior steps closer, rests his hand briefly on Haurchefant’s cheek before stepping into the bath.

“Don’t you have...things to do?” he continues. “Work, I mean.”

Of course. He always does. They both do. There’s no rest for the righteous. Still it seems so far away at this moment, a thousand worlds away from the sight before him. His warrior sinks into the water with a sigh of relief, his eyes falling shut with the pleasure of it, and Haurchefant knows his decision has been made for him. He can’t leave. Not now.

“It can wait a little longer,” he breathes, delighting in the smile this earns him in response.

“Mm. Thank you.”

There’s a stool set beside the tub, usually for use by servants and handmaids. Haurchefant removes the outer layers of his armour and takes a seat, his eyes never leaving the man in the water. They sit in comfortable silence for a while, steam rising into the air between them, but before long Haurchefant finds himself reaching out. It’s never been in his nature to just watch. 

It starts innocuously enough. He dips his fingers into the water to take the sting of cold away from them and then runs them along the warrior’s collarbones, leaving droplets of water shining in their wake. The warrior smiles, eyes still closed, and lays still and completely relaxed as if he had been expecting this. He probably had. He’s long since learned all of Haurchefant’s little ways when they’re alone together. Having been given this silent encouragement, Haurchefant continues to trace his fingers along warming skin, across a handsome jawline, down across strong muscles, dips just below the water to touch the curve of one hipbone.

“It has been a while,” he says softly, a little breathless from such simple gestures, “since I could enjoy your company like this.”

The warrior laughs at that, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Too bloody long.”

Haurchefant hums in agreement, leans in a little closer to submerge his hand completely in the water. He drags his fingers across his warrior’s stomach, scratching his nails lightly through the line of soft hair, before reaching further. He finds his warrior already half-hard and smiles warmly, watching the way he subtly bites as his lower lip when Haurchefant gives him a lazy squeeze.

“How many months is it now, I wonder?”

Even though he’s the one asking, Haurchefant is uncertain. He remembers the last time, and every time, like it was yesterday. Strange how it can feel so close and so distant all at once. He supposes he’s just greedy. Perhaps they both are because his warrior reaches up to cup his cheek, pulling him into a slow kiss and lightly rocking his hips into his touch. 

“Does it matter?”

The question is breathed against his lips and he’s almost overcome with emotion. It’s rare that he’s not the one who kisses first. But it’s been a long day, a difficult one, and he’s more than happy to be whatever he’s needed to be for as long as he can.

“Not really,” he answers, weaving his other hand into his warrior’s hair. “I have you here, now. That’s what’s important.”

Haurchefant always tries to live in the present. It’s never easier than when he’s with this particular man. Time loses its grasp over him as he leans over the tub to engage in a series of slowly deepening kisses, dragging his blunt nails back and forth along the nape of his warrior’s neck, revelling in each little shiver he feels in response. For a man usually so stoic, he’s always so responsive like this, pliable and eager in Haurchefant’s hands. Haurchefant drinks in every small movement he makes, each sigh that slips between his lips. 

He strokes gently at first, slowly, until his warrior stands fully hard in his grasp. Only then does he move with any sense of urgency, tightening his grip on each upstroke just as his warrior likes it. He continues until the man is tense, wound tight as a bowstring, and then relents for a time, running his fingers carefully over his head, feeling out his shape with small worshipful gestures until his warrior weaves a hand into his hair and tugs, whines softly for more. 

Haurchefant isn’t sure how much time he spends on this delightful cycle, working his warrior to the brink of release and then drawing away. It’s easy to feel giddy on it all, on the power he feels over this, the world’s strongest, shining individual. Soon sweat is beading his own brow, his own body singing and burning. He thinks he hides it well enough but he’s never been any good at keeping secrets from this man. When he next draws his hand away, leaving his warrior breathless and gasping, he’s stopped from chasing the next kiss by a firm hand in his hair.

“What about you?”

It’s such a sweet question that warmth of a different kind blossoms in his chest. He breathes a low laugh and shakes his head.

“There’s nothing in this world I enjoy more than touching you. The way you feel...” he says softly, giving his warrior a firm squeeze and delighting in the resulting moan. “Those little noises you make. You know you usually keep your expression so calm, so dignified, but like this you’re wonderfully expressive.”

And he  _ is,  _ he’s gasping and moaning with open desire as he listens, rocking his hips upwards into Haurchefant’s touch, hard and hot and needing. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his cheeks and chest blooming pink, and Haurchefant presses his lips to one cheek with a gentle laugh.

“Did you know that you blush the colour of rose petals?”

“Nn? I...”

“And you like it when I talk like this, don’t you?” Haurchefant continues relentlessly. “Even if it embarrasses you.”

He can’t deny it. His warrior tries anyway, shakes his head feverishly even as he arches his spine.

“H-hah...”

“You’re radiant like this,” Haurchefant murmurs, leaning in to press his lips against one ear. “I want to keep you all to myself.”

If only this moment could last forever. But of course it can’t. Every man has his limit and his warrior is fast approaching his own. Instead of drawing away as before Haurchefant works him firmly, eyes fixed on his expression, the way his eyelids flutter.

“Don’t...”

His voice is soft, vulnerable. Haurchefant bites at his earlobe with a low laugh.

“’Don’t’ what, my love? You have to be clearer than that.”

“Don’t  _ s-stop _ , nn, Haurchefant, please...”

Desperate, shameless words only for him. It’s almost reward enough just to hear them. Haurchefant leans in closer, his own heart racing, frantically pumping his hand along with the stuttering rhythm of his warrior’s hips.

“Anything,” he breathes. “Anything for you, dear one.”

With  Haurchefant’s name on his lips his warrior comes undone, spilling hot across the shuddering muscles of his stomach.  Haurchefant watches eagerly, drinks in each moment, and strokes him over and over until he’s completely spent, gasping and trembling in the water.  Oh but he’s most beautiful like this, open and unguarded, flushed pink with pleasure.  Haurchefant watches until he can take it no longer and then leans in for a kiss, humming in appreciation as a damp hand weaves back into his hair.

They kiss for what could well be aeons.  Haurchefant isn’t much in the mood for counting seconds. The kisses are sweet and lingering, saying far more than words ever could.  Haurchefant blindly uses his hand to clean his warrior’s body with the cooling water, giving a low laugh as his warrior twitches in response. If only they could stay like this forever. Alas the  Ishgardian chill is beginning to set in and the last thing  Haurchefant wants is for his warrior to be uncomfortable.

It takes a monumental effort to get to his feet but he manages. Even if time feels  inconsequential he knows it continues to pass regardless of his feelings. He should have long since departed and his warrior should have taken to bed. He reaches for his hand and tugs gently.

“Come,” he urges. His warrior laughs.

“I did that already.”

He uses  Haurchefant’s hand to get to his feet, still chuckling as he steps out of the tub.  Haurchefant shakes his head in mock disbelief, a fond smile on his lips.

“The mouth on you,” he murmurs, leaning in for a swift kiss. “It’s utterly perfect.”

He helps his warrior dress in comfortable silence, only his nightclothes for now, his armour can be collected and carried by a servant when the room is cleaned. He knows that  Hydaelyn’s champion usually prefers to do such things himself but he knows better by now than to argue with  Haurchefant’s attempts to make his life easier. They leave the bathroom and cross the hall hand in hand, the walk to the guest chamber’s door regrettably short. His warrior opens the door and steps inside, turning back with a sigh as  Haurchefant doesn’t follow him in.

“You can’t stay.”

If it had been a question, a plea, then Haurchefant may have given in. But of course it isn’t. His warrior knows better and never asks for more than he offers, never pressures him to forgo his responsibilities. They’re not selfish, either of them. Life might be a little sweeter if they were.

“No,” he says, raising his warrior’s hand to his lips before letting it fall. “I must return to Camp Dragonhead before the morrow.”

“Why  _ were _ you here today, anyway? I never asked.”

“Perhaps I was just delivering a message to father,” he says, knowing this won’t be believed for a moment and continues with a smile. “Or perhaps I heard a certain person was in the area slaying dragons and wished for an excuse to lend a hand.”

His warrior raises a hand to his injured shoulder, his eyes widening even though he must have known.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“Thank  _ you,”  _ Haurchefant respons swiftly. _ “ _ On behalf of everyone, of the whole  _ world _ .”

His warrior laughs sheepishly, embarrassed, and it’s so charming that  Haurchefant’s heart hurts. Weak, he tilts his warrior’s chin upwards for a final kiss.

“Thank you,” he repeats in a whisper, “for turning and not taking that strike head-on.”

It’s more complex than that. They both know it. In their lines of work every single strike could be the last, could come at any time. Each day is a blessing. As his warrior smiles, colour high in his cheeks once again, Haurchefant feels more blessed than he deserves.

“Safe travels, Haurchefant.”

He’s not good with endearments. It doesn’t bother Haurchefant at all. He has enough for the two of them.

“Aye. Sweet dreams, my heart. If you wish for my aid in the trials ahead you need only to call on me.”

“I know.”

But he won’t. He’s stubborn and headstrong, too used to working alone to even consider asking for help.  Haurchefant loves him that way. He only wishes that he’ll be there when he needs to be, whenever that time may come. For  now they’ve been staring at one another for too long, postponing the inevitable. He takes a step back and bows his head in deference.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

He reaches out and pulls the door shut before either of them can make any more excuses. He lets his hand linger on the door handle, pressing his forehead to the wood.

_ I love you. _

He mouths it silently before turning to leave and harbours the selfish hope that on the other side of the door the same words are being spoken for him.


End file.
